For Lilian and the Indigos - Above Top Secret

Chapter 4
We paused briefly to dress; I chose a warm, fine wool drape – so fine a wool that it felt of
fine velvet rather than fine wool – that fell to my knees in soft folds of red cascade. To
this I added a belt of intricate Mayan symbols, wrought in gold and mounted closely on a
titanium structure reminiscent of a snake’s skin – a gift from Noni, who was now doing
more than site-seeing, digging in the Central American Pyramids. On my feet I pulled
boots, with deep treads and shin high lacing. The boots were red, too.
Lee wore boots (as I had suggested), jeans just the right amount of snug, and a gray wool
jacket with hood pulled over his head and the zipper allowing just the right amount of his
chest in view.
Taking his hand I led him out to the terrace and we looked at the white sands, liberally
dotted with large black stones, of a beach that ran north and south. We were looking
inland from a point about 20 feet above the crashing surf that rolled in its ever-steady yet
chaotic way into the stones and over the sands of the beach. From where we stood, the
15 foot high, dark cliffs that hedged the beach about 50 feet inland could be peeked over,
showing a lush forest of short growth with trees liberally interspersed. The feature most
prominent was the gash in the wall of the cliffs.
In front of us the white sand continued into a canyon with sheer cliff on either side, about
15 feet wide, with ferns covering the sides of the walls of what gave mostly the
impression of a winding hallway into a temple. Finding out where that canyon led was a
very inviting prospect. Lee turned to me and smiled widely but said nothing.
The house had already extended a ramp down to the beach for us, opening the energy
field and sending a tube of energy around the ramp to the sands below. I took Lee’s hand
to lead him into Fern Canyon.
When we reached the beach, I scanned for other people who might have chosen to visit
this place at this time, but the gray, cloud-covered skies showed no one else around. I
drew the crisp salt air, quite cool and damp, into my lungs, listening to the waves stroke
rock and caress sand. Then we aimed for the path that led into to the cliffs, which now
loomed well above our heads.
Sand crunched under foot but did not echo down the hall, so lush and buffered the walls
were with ferns. The stream that splashed gently on its way to the sea amidst the sand
pathway ran, crystal clear, sometimes on the left and sometimes on the right, requiring
that Lee and I hop over its small width from time to time. The dripping of moisture
through the ferns was as muted chimes and the laughter of the stream seemed to dance
within its lattice. The path kept going, deeper and deeper, into the cliffs.
We had made the trek in silence, sharing our wonder and delight in smiles, gentle
touches, and assists over the stream from time to time. Now Lee spoke, “The path is